Ugh! I'm off the meds again and it effing sucks. I'm on an angry rampage and I hate everything and everybody and yet I genuinely feel like the entire world I'm despising is hurting MY feelings by challenging me beyond my abilities, emphasizing my faults and shortcomings, and providing me opportunities left and right to try and fail at even the simplest tasks! It's silliness. It's illusion. Everything is overwhelming. I can't slow my thoughts. I feel like my mind took a trip to New York and is standing mid-chaos at peak hour. It's as frustrating as having a phone conversation with someone who is facing a heavy wind and heavier signal interference. I feel guilty for putting the boyfriend through all the abrupt changes in tone (he never knows what to expect from me and it's hard for him tiptoeing through an eggshell minefield). But I prefer these short vacations from the meds. I feel more... free... without the meds. I think. I feel. I know. I am. And then I don't know what's happening. Give it three days and then I'm drowning; there's too much going on, too much to take in, too much to do and not enough initiative... or too much initiative and not enough time before my emotional clock strikes twelve and all that empowerment and enthusiasm and talent within me turns to pumpkin puree. And I'm mush. I'm weak and I'm destroyed and I'm fed up. That's how I ended up with four fat scars above four juicy arteries last month. I'd never tried anything like that before. It's much harder than one would expect. And I spent three days holed up in a bathroom sleeping and slicing and contemplating the grand release and the freedom that would come with it. I want to be free. I want to be me... whoever I am during any given interval.